Straying from the Beaten Path
by Elliotsmelliot
Summary: A trail of reunions lay in Desmond and Penny's wake.


x x x

_Three Days_

Desmond's late enough for Penny to wonder if he stood her up. She tries to tell herself it's probably because she's picked a restaurant notoriously hard to find or that he's been delayed by the burst water main on Oxford Street. It couldn't be that he's too embarrassed to see her again? Her, the woman who three days ago, after only knowing him a handful of hours, had crawled on top of him and tried to erase the vow of chastity from his mind.

God, what had the monks put in that wine? Her face flushes just thinking of her behaviour under a tree in a field outside of Carlisle. That had been unlike anything she had ever done before and anything that he must have done, well, at least recently, she had decided. When she dropped him at the train station that evening, she had taken his stunned expression to be one of horror at their actions and never expected to hear from him again.

But then he had called her the next day, to thank her for the ride in manner that held no double meaning. He said he was staying with friends in Russell Square and asked if he could take her to dinner the next time she was in London. Without another thought, she had cancelled her plans to remain at her parent's summer home for another week and returned to the city at once, again completely appalled at her eagerness.

Penny waits another fifteen minutes before leaving, more disappointed in her keenness, than at his indecency. Just as she's getting into a cab, she hears her name yelled from across the street. She asks the driver to wait and stands to see Desmond dodging traffic.

He arrives at her side a flustered mess, hair askew and positively dripping with sweat. His shirt sleeves are rolled up and his jacket is crumpled in his fist

"What happened?"

"I'm so… I was stuck…Piccadilly line…there were no…I couldn't…" The rest comes out as a wheeze as he stops to rest his hands on his thighs.

"Did you run here?"

"Halfway."

"That's insane."

"I know."

When he straightens up and smiles, that magnetic pull Penny thought she must have imagined when she first met him announces itself again, runs through her from head to toe like an electric current. She knows this is bordering on something closer to lust than love but she decides, then and there, that three days is the longest she ever wants them to be apart.

_Three Weeks_

Penny hates to fly. Desmond discovered this on their first trip abroad when his calm and cheerful girlfriend vanished, replaced by a fidgety belligerent creature who snapped at the stewardess and glared at him for losing himself in a book. She claimed not to be afraid, simply frustrated by the entire process. For someone who considered the journey as important as the destination, flying took the fun out of travelling, she said.

So when her flight from San Francisco arrives at Heathrow six hours late, Desmond braces himself for a litany of complaints and holds the small bouquet of flowers he brought in front of him like an inadequate shield. He scans the crowds leaving Customs but he must have missed her exit because suddenly she's at his side, tapping him on his arm.

"I've haven't been gone that long. You still recognize me, right?"

Her cheeks are aglow, her eyes bright and a relaxed smile lights up her face. There are no traces of the ten hour flight or the three weeks she spent at the bedside of a sick friend. Perhaps she discovered a secret spa between Immigration and Baggage Claim because frankly, she looks nothing like the weary cranky traveller he expected.

Her bags land with a clatter at their feet. She throws her arms around him and pulls him close. "I missed you."

Even though they've been together over a year, seeing Penny after the briefest separation, always leaves Desmond a little stunned, the side effect of never quite comprehending why this astonishing woman still comes home to him. He makes up for his slow response with his own enthusiastic embrace that leads to an equally enthusiastic kiss that leaves them verging on heading somewhere publicly inappropriate.

When he finally catches his breath, he says, "Welcome home."

_Three Months_

Penny tries to pretend their meeting is just a coincidence, that she just happened to find herself in the pub closest to the Dreghorn Barracks on the night Desmond finished basic training. He's polite enough not to act like it's at all extraordinary for her to be in a tiny town north of Edinburgh. In fact, polite would be the best way to describe their meeting. Enough time has passed that her anger has dulled but enough of it still remains that she refuses to be swept away by the sight of him in uniform.

She calls him Private Hume. He calls her Penelope. She's hoping he'll say something that will help her understand how they got to this point but he remains even quieter than normal. She asks if he likes the army and he says he does. He appreciates the routine, remarking it almost reminds him of the monastery.

Then the politeness ends.

"You like not having to make any decisions for yourself. Shoot this, climb that, push that button. You don't even need to think what to put on in the morning."

"I'm just trying to find somewhere I fit, somewhere I can make a difference." He says this into his glass and she realizes he hasn't looked her in the eye once since she's arrived.

"Be all that you can be, is it?" she snorts.

He reaches for her hand but she snatches it away. "Pen, I never meant to hurt you."

"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

He doesn't protest when she stands to leave and she doesn't dare look back to see his expression. On the way to her hotel, she pulls over because she expects to cry but finds she can't. She's relieved, this must mean it's really over between them.

_Three years, three months, three weeks and three days_

Over the years, Desmond's imagined a number of different reunions. Some were just a blur of emotions, others were incredibly specific, every detail scripted from what he'll say to what she's wearing. There's the one where he calls her up, and breezily asks if she's free for coffee and when they meet and she asks him where he's been, he shrugs and says "away". Another time they meet in the street and simply nod because she's with a man and a small child and all he has with him are ghosts.

They're not all that dark or complicated. He has plenty of carefully choreographed seduction scenes that do not require him to picture what she is wearing because the clothes disappear quite quickly.

Given the time he's had to plan this out, one would think he's covered all the possibilities but Desmond feels completely unprepared for what is only hours away. He had never laid claim to a scenario that found her waiting for him, let alone one that had her looking for him. How could she be when he left her not a clue to his whereabouts or more importantly, any indication that he wanted her to care enough to look. Not when he'd thwarted every attempt she made to bring him back into her life, first that night at the pub, then two years later at the stadium.

All the same, she looked for him. As incredible, she found him.

He wonders if their reunion will be like their first one, leaving him breathless and willing to follow her anywhere. Or will it be more like coming back from a long trip, when everything that came before vanishes at the sight of the person you most associate with home. He has not dismissed the possibility of ugliness. That after everything, he might not be able to meet her eyes. He is not the same man she fell in love with.

And if there is a part of him that remains the same, then there is the distinct possibility that he will screw it all up and this will end with hearts further broken.

When the ship docks, rather than gather on the deck with the others, he retreats to his cabin. He knows it's ridiculous to be standing staring at her photo when the flesh and blood version is only metres away, but he does so until he's sure he's the only one left on the ship.

Desmond's not surprised that his reluctance is matched by her impatience and they encounter each other in the narrow stairwell between decks. That she's met him halfway, he finds enormously comforting. That only ten steps stand between them, astonishes him. She is more beautiful and more surreal than any image clinging in his memory. Just after he thinks he could stand there forever just relishing her proximately, he's overcome with greed. He wants to touch her, smell her, and taste her but most of all he wants to hear her voice.

The distance between them seems to take forever to cross. Up close, he's struck by her uncertainty not because it isn't all together fitting but because, even now, he expected her to take the lead. Except she's biting her lip and seems to finds his shoes incredibly interesting.

He squeezes around her until he is one step ahead, then reaches for her quivering hand. He is immediately aware of how rough and clammy it must feel to her but then their fingers weave together, easily reunited with none of the awkwardness found everywhere else. This seems to amuse her and even though her head is still bowed, he can see a smile creep across her lips.

He turns to lead her up the stairs, when he feels her breath against his ear. "I wonder if everything else will fit together as nicely," she says in a whisper both optimistic and curious.

x x x


End file.
